


Honey Just Put Your Sweet Lips on Mine

by jarebear20



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Modern Character in Thedas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 12:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20192269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarebear20/pseuds/jarebear20
Summary: In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, a fragile peace between two almost-friends becomes something more.She wants him to show her what it could be like.





	Honey Just Put Your Sweet Lips on Mine

After months of sleeping in tents, it’s a novel thing to be able to look forward to sleeping in an actual bed for once. Not that Bekah’s had time to think about sleep, what with all of the celebrations taking place.

As it turns out, if you help save the country from being invaded by darkspawn, people will want to invite you to all of their celebrations. Who knew?

It’s hard to say no, and not just because it’s easy to guilt her into doing something if the right buttons are pushed. After everything that’s happened, it seems almost disrespectful to turn down someone’s offer of free drinks and taking part in the revelry. So she goes out with her companions and enjoys the hospitality that only Ferelden can offer.

The next morning begins by sleeping in late. To be able to do so is a luxury, one that Bekah is only all too happy to indulge in. Her dreams are no longer plagued by memories of dragon’s fire raining from the sky, of the oppressive weight of being miles underground. Instead, she dreams of the future, of all of the possibilities that are now open to her. It’s addicting.

There are only a handful of servants in the kitchens by the time she leaves her chambers. Breakfast has long since come and gone; now they make preparations for the arl’s evening meal, the first proper one since the archdemon was slain. She wonders what sort of strings Tegan had to pull to get the food she sees laid out on the table, but figures it’s better not to ask.

Waving at the servants in greeting, Bekah goes to a part of the kitchen where she won’t be in the way of their work. There’s sure to be something around that she can cobble a meal from. Finding some bread and cheese in good supply, she nabs a loaf and wedge before grabbing a plate and adding some cured meat to it. Figuring that is a reasonable bounty for now, she turns to retreat back to her room…

...and finds Zevran watching her from near the door.

Her heart does a flip in her chest, an embarrassing fact that she swears she’ll take to her grave if asked about it. They haven’t really spoken more than a handful of words to each other since the final battle, both moving in different circles as their attentions were needed elsewhere.

But it seems their paths are finally aligned now, because he’s leaning against the wall with an insufferable smirk as he takes in the sight of her. She hates how it makes her wish she’d taken more care with her appearance before coming down here. Brushed her hair. Something.

“I’d have thought you’d be in the training yard,” she says. He normally was around this time, sparring with a training dummy or whomever was so brave as to try and go up against a trained assassin.

Her voice is quiet in the large room, but he hears her all the same. “I was. Thought I would see if I could steal something to eat.”

“Ah.” The silence stretches like the space between mountain peaks. So many things to say, but now way to articulate them properly. “You could just ask, you know. No need to steal food anymore.”

“I know.” She can’t tell what he’s thinking when he looks at her like that. “You know what they say about old habits.”

“That’s just an excuse,” she says, shaking her head at him. “You just wanted to see if you could smooth talk your way into getting some food before dinner.”

He lifts a blond eyebrow at her words. “You think so little of me, cara mia.”

The endearment causes her heart to give another flip and she’s not sure if her shake this time is to dispute the claim or to stop her heart from leaping out of her chest. “I think entirely too much of you, and you know it.”

Her cheeks redden at the admission, but she meets his gaze head-on. He’s looking entirely too smug at the information, and she wonders if she can get to him so she can punch him before he tries to stop her. Probably not.

“Do I now?” The words are almost a purr, a sensuous sound that reaches out to brush against her cheek.

“Yes.” The word comes out of her in short bite. Shifting her spoils in her arms, she tries to not embarrass herself any more than she already has. “Do you mind? You’re not the only one trying to eat here.”

“Have dinner with me,” he says abruptly, and for the first time, she sees the color staining his cheeks. Is he...is he actually blushing? Bekah had never seen him even remotely embarrassed. The word doesn’t suit Zevran, not in the way he teases her and their friends with innuendo at every conceivable opportunity.

“Dinner?” Bekah asks, immediately suspicious. Zevran must realize this because he holds up his hands in surrender, trying to put her at ease.

She’s shared meals with him before. It’d be impossible not to when they spent the better part of the last year on the road together. His presence was a welcome relief because it meant that someone other than Alistair was contributing to the meal, even if the spices he added were sometimes too much for Bekah’s taste.

“When?”

“Tonight.” Zevran’s smile grows and he reaches out for her, tugging her closer while managing to not spill the contents of her plate. “We could go to the Gnawed Noble Tavern. Or...if you wish, I could cook for you?”

“I…” She blinks up at him. The elves of Thedas aren’t as tall as say Tolkien elves, but he still has the height advantage here. “What sort of food?” she asks finally. “Nothing spicy, I hope?”

Zevran chuckles. “Do not worry, cara mia. I do not want to cause you pain tonight. Not unless you wish it.”

The push she gives him is light. “You’re terrible.”

“Antivan,” he corrects her, and bends down to press his lips to her forehead. “What do you say? I will make you something you are sure to enjoy.”

She knows he will, and that’s why it’s too risky. Give him an inch, and Zevran will take a mile. But his expression is far too earnest, her defenses too weak. “It might be nice to have a quiet meal tonight.”

“Excellent.” He gives her forehead another peck before he takes a step back. “I will see you tonight then, cara mia.” Turning on his heels, Zevran walks out of the kitchen, singing a song she could only guess was Antivan in origin.

It takes Bekah far too long to realize he had not actually grabbed any food to take with him.

What was he doing in the kitchen then?

* * *

She goes to the Great Hall just long enough to listen to the toasts being made before everyone else tucks into the food that the servants prepared and she slips out of a side entrance. Zevran is waiting for her at the base of the stairs, because of course he is.

They move quietly through the corridors of the castle, stopping only for Zevran to retrieve a tray ladened with food from the larder. None of the servants question him. She’s not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing, but maybe it’s just a sign of respect for what they gave to defend Denerim from the darkspawn. Maybe they just like Zevran. Most do. Those that didn’t usually didn’t stick around long.

“I can’t believe you wanted to take me to the tavern,” she says as they turn another corner, needing something to complain about because it’s easier than saying anything she might want to really tell him. There’s a brief moment of deja vu as she watches him in front of her, a memory of the last time he was leading her down a corridor. Only this time they’re in the arl’s castle in Denerim, not Fort Drakon. And Zevran most definitely hasn’t been fighting through armed soldiers to get them here.

“The Gnawed Noble is a lovely tavern.” He glances back and Bekah wonders if he remembers Fort Drakon as clearly as she does. Since she’s not a mind reader, there’s no way of telling with any certainty. “You were the one that wished for a quiet evening, no?”

“Yeah.” She’s close enough that she nearly bumps into him as he comes to a stop in front of the door that leads to the gardens. Watching him unlock the door, she tries to stop the anxiety from welling up inside of her. She knows that he’s not trying to lure her into a trap, but it still feels like it. “I’d think the Pearl is more your scene, though.”

“My lady, you wound me.” Zevran puts a hand over his heart dramatically, but the effect is ruined by the grin on his face. “How will I go on when the night has only just begun?”

“You’ll manage,” she says easily, slipping past him now that the door is open. The gardens are neutral ground, a place with no deeper meaning for either of them. The memories found here are those of the darkspawn that laid siege to the castle, not of things left unspoken between two people that crossed paths unintentionally. “It can’t be the first time someone has thought you were more comfortable with a whorehouse than a gentleman’s club.”

“A gentleman’s club?” Zevran’s expression is almost comical as he carries the tray of food deeper into the garden. There are still plenty of plants in bloom, despite the havoc of the Blight. She can barely make out the top of his blond hair as he slips between the hedge walls of what looks to be a small maze.

“You know the place,” she says as she takes in the damage of the gardens. She hadn’t thought the darkspawn had breached this castle this far, but it would make sense that some would spill over here. She wishes she could have enjoyed this place properly before, but there wasn’t any time when they had to worry about Ferelden politics. “Where the banns go to talk about what their compatriots are doing behind their backs while they come up with their own plots to retaliate. It’s too...Orlesian. Unless you’re really into that sort of thing, you’d be more interested in what the Pearl has to offer.”

“And what does the Pearl have to offer that would be more tempting than a way to ply my trade?” She can hear him setting the tray down on something, the sound of metal clinking on metal telling her that he’s probably setting things up for the two of them. She lets him, because what else is there to do?

“Sex,” she says bluntly, because it’s true. “A place that reminds you of home, at ten silvers an hour. Shall I go on?”

“Ah, but the Pearl has nothing on home.” Zevran emerged from the hedges, a flute filled with a golden liquid in either hand. He hands her one, letting his fingers linger on hers as the glass passes between them. “Shall I prove it to you? Come with me and I’ll show you.”

Bekah raises an eyebrow. “Visit a brothel? Not exactly what I had in mind when you asked if I wanted to have dinner with you.”

“I want to take you to Antiva,” Zevran says, abandoning any chance at being coy. “I want to show you Antiva City.”

“Why?” The question is out before she can stop herself.

“Because I wish to.” The confession is surprisingly heartfelt, but that was often the case when it came to Zevran. He was skilled in getting her to feel off kilter like this. “Because I want to show you more about my life.”

She looks away, covering up anything she might say by taking a sip from her glass. The wine is sweet, enough that she doesn’t mind it being alcohol for once. Probably his intent. Zevran always noticed small details like that.

How does he manage it? Turning her world upside down like this with only a few words? So smooth, so confident in himself. It was that sort of thing that crippled her in the past, placing her situations where she was left defenseless enough that it felt impossible to survive without revealing everything. She doesn’t mind a challenge, but it’s tough when her opponent can flip the script on her at a moment’s notice.

“It’s been a couple of months since Fort Drakon,” she says, taking another sip of the wine. “You’d think you’d have figured it out by now.” Feeling too fragile for her liking, she tried to shift the direction of the conversation. “Anyways, you asked for me to join you for dinner.”

“True enough.” Zevran smiles and gestures towards the gap in the hedges. “After you, cara mia.”

She doesn’t get the chance to pass him, however, as he catches her by the elbow as she moves to skirt around him, dragging her against his chest as he leans down to kiss her.

She makes a sound in her throat, and she’s not sure if it’s a flimsy attempt at protest or a sign of giving in. He’s too comfortable with moving like this. The kiss is as gentle as it is warm, and being in his arms feels far too natural for them.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he murmurs. She’s still in his arms, which might be for the best because she feels off balance being here with him. Alone.

“You invited me,” she returns faintly, and he sets her back on her feet with an infectious laugh. “Specifically for a meal, as I recall.”

“Then let us see if I can impress you with a taste of my homeland.” It’s amazing how even that comes out dirty. Given how it’s coming from Zevran, though, perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised.

It feels almost normal to be like this, to be sitting cross-legged on a blanket as she watches Zevran warm up the food on a small burner he must have found while sneaking around the castle at night. It became normal at some point, back when they were part of a group hellbent on saving the world. Now that the world is saved, they have to figure out where things stood between them.

The smell of whatever he is cooking is familiar, and she takes another sip of her wine as she watches the light of the glowstone illuminating his face. He’s wearing a shirt that’s open almost down to his navel. From this angle she’s sure she can catch a glimpse of one of the many tattoos he’s received over the years, the black ink stark against dark brown skin.

“What are you going to do about the Crows with Talisen now gone?” She doesn’t realize she’s asking the question until she does it, cutting through the easy silence with about as much grace as a raging bronto. Talisen had not been up for discussion since the escape from the prison.

“Brasca!” She can see his face twitch, but Zevran doesn’t look up at her. “Why are you thinking about that, of all things?”

“Because we’ve been avoiding it.” She keeps watching him, trying to figure out what he’s feeling by the way his face moves in the light of the glowstone. “You’ve asked me to go with you to Antiva, but you’ve made no mention of the Crows.”

She thinks he swears softly as he pulls the food off of the burner before that too is set aside. “I was not sure how.”

“You want to bring them down. To make them pay for Rinna and Talisen.” Zevran had lost two lovers to the Antivan Crows. It was only natural that he’d want revenge against his jailors after he was set free.

“That’s not…” Zevran’s voice falters, “Entirely untrue.”

“You were afraid I’d try and talk you out of it.” She watched him wince. “Or that I’d succeed and all that suffering would go unanswered.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Now he looks up at her and his eyes look almost like liquid gold. “I asked you to dinner to thank you. I’m grateful for everything you’ve...for everything. This is just...new. I am bad at it.”

“I noticed,” she says, the smallest hint of a smile emerging. “You might want to turn off the burner before it catches everything else on fire.”

He swears loudly, turning to extinguish the flame just before it reaches the plant that it had been inching towards.

It’s strange. At one point, the two of them were close enough that Zevran felt comfortable telling her about what happened to Rinna, about his death wish before joining Diantha to defeat the darkspawn. She hadn’t thought about it in so long, not since…

Since Talisen. Feeling more exposed than if she had been wearing nothing, Bekah set down the flute of wine down forceful enough to draw Zevran’s attention. Shit.

“Is everything alright?”

“Just fine,” she says, and she can almost believe it. “Only hungry.”

“Then let us see if we can sate that appetite, eh?” Zevran holds out a plate, and she’s not sure when he managed to put food on it without her noticing. Her heart skips a little as she takes it from him. What is she doing here? She should excuse herself before this escalates, but instead she finds herself lifting the first bite of food to her lips and taking a bite.

Zevran puts food on his own plate. “It has been some time since we’ve done this.”

“Mmm.” She doesn’t speak with the food in her mouth. She wishes it didn’t taste so good, wishes things could have turned out differently for them. “Didn’t think we’d end up here, huh? Eating in the garden of the Arl of Redcliffe’s estate. God, we’re both terrible at this.”

That draws a laugh from him. “Bekah,” he says, and she tries not to read too much into the fond way he says it. “Just eat your food.”

That is something she can do. She scoops up another bite and wonders if there will ever come a time when she can do this without feeling like her heart is going to burst from her chest.

“Do you like it?” Zevran asks, and she knows that this isn’t a ruse in order to get a compliment from her. He genuinely wants to know if she likes what he made. “It’s not too spicy for you, is it?”

“Nah. It’s really good.” Just the right level of spice for her, where she can taste the food beyond the heat. “I’m surprised you could get the spices with how the marketplace is these days.”

“You’d be amazed at what someone like me can get,” he says with a wry smile. It soon drops, however. “I’m sorry. For not talking about the Crows. I should have.”

“Don’t.” Bekah shook her head, not sure if she was ready for this. “You had your reasons. And it’s not like we’ve been on speaking terms lately.” The Blight rarely cared for that sort of thing.

“Still, it was unfair of me to keep it from you. I miss being friends with you.”

She looks down, praying her voice won’t crack in front of him. “So do I.” It’s another chip off the block that was her defense. How many more will she lose tonight before it all comes crashing down?

“For the record, I think it’s a good idea.” She might as well tell him the truth, since he’s putting in so much effort for her. It’s the least she can do. “If anyone can take it to the Crows, it’s you.”

“Thank you.” Zevran seems touched by her words, as if she’d ever be so cruel as to tell him that he was sure to fail. But she knew the truth; he would bring down the Crows, one master assassin at a time. He deserved to know that before he left.

Alright, this was getting too emotional for the both of them. Food didn’t taste nearly as good when it was covered with unshed tears. “Anyways, you need to cut it out.”

“Cut what out?” He leans forward, his head tilting as if he were confused. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes you are.” She stares at him pointedly. “You’re doing it right now. Stop.”

“Tell me, cara mia.” He practically purrs the words, knowing it makes her squirm. “What is it that I should stop doing?”

“Looking at me like that. It’s unnerving.” She scoots back. “Didn’t anyone tell you that if you did that your face would stick?”

That only earned another laugh, this one the loudest yet. “I’ve been told that my face is very handsome indeed. Why should I try and change that?”

“You’re insufferable.” To keep from digging herself a deeper hole, she shovels food into her mouth and chews it slowly. It’s ridiculous how he can shift the mood just like that. Whatever tension there was before, now they’re sitting in companionable silence as they eat. He inches closer, his knee brushing against hers, and it’s hard not to smile.

It makes things more intimate, if such a thing were possible when the two of them are eating their own private meal.

Conversation begins to flow more freely, and Bekah soon finds herself laughing with Zevran like she used to. She doesn’t need alcohol to feel silly; Zevran always has a way of making even the dumbest jokes seem funny.

She’s not sure what she feels as they move on to the next course, watching him go through so much effort to show what life in Antiva could be like. With him.

It’s that last niggling thought that has her getting to her feet and walking through the maze. She just needs some air, she tells herself. Something to do to get this nervous energy out of her.

He follows her, watching to make sure he hasn’t done something to upset her. “I take it that you are too full for dessert?”

She can feel his gaze on her as sure as she could feel the fabric of her dress against her skin. This is a bad idea. It would be all too easy to pick things up where they left off, to pretend everything is fine when it really isn’t.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, because it’s hard to breath when she’s around him. The memories of what they were, of what they could be, were as damaging to her as any poison he could concoct.

“Dessert can wait.” Zevran’s voice is gentle, and the way he’s watching her makes her feel uncomfortably warm.

“So what are you going to do?” She kicks at a tuft of grass. “Now that the main revelry is done with, I mean. Gonna head back on the first ship to Antiva?” She thinks of him sneaking in the shadows, of how he’d trained her to do the same. A few such training sessions had ended with them making out in a corner, the thrill of possibly being caught making the kisses that much more exciting.

“I do not know,” he admits. “I am not a free man, as it were.”

Hell. She gives him a look, but he seems to be sincere. She’d almost forgotten about his oath to Diantha. Surely he wouldn’t be expected to stick around now that the Blight had been ended. She hates that she doesn’t know that for certain. “What do you want to do?”

He looks baffled by the question. “I am...not sure. These things are decided by others, yes?”

She shakes her head. “Actions, maybe. But not your wants. What do you want to do, Zevran?”

Now it’s his time to pace around the garden, and she watches him as he does so. She didn’t expect him to be so rattled by the question. Finally, he stops, and turns to look at her.

“What about yourself?” He turns the question on her. “What do you want, Bekah? Will you return to the Avvar?”

“You already know what I want.“ She frowns, preparing to turn the conversation back on him, but then sees how he’s looking at her. Like she’ll vanish if he ever stops. Like she’s more important than his leather boots or the Dalish gloves she gave him that reminded him of the pair his mother once had. Like he almost lost her once and to do so again would break him.

“An assassin must learn to forget about sentiment.” His voice is soft, almost too much so. “It is dangerous. You take your pleasure when you can, when life is good. To expect anything more would be reckless.”

Time stops. She knows these words, has heard them before, but never in this context. Never directed at her.

“I thought it was the same between us,” he continues, as if he has to get the words out before he loses his nerve. Him, the same person who was willing to leap onto a dragon and drive his sword into its skull. “Something to enjoy, a pleasant diversion and nothing more. And yet…”

“And yet, what?” She can’t look at him. If she looks at him now, all is lost. And she can’t, not after surviving this long. “Are you saying that you’re in love with me?”

“Yes.”

Oh god. She looks up and is lost, because he’s looking at her. Of course he is. “Why tell me now? After everything that’s happened?”

“Because I couldn’t before. Didn’t realize that I loved you until I nearly lost you. So I’m telling you now.”

“Why? After Talisen you walked away. And when I went to talk to you, you--” her voice cracks, a reflection of each splinter of her heart. “You told me to leave you alone. And now you want to tell me you love me? What is your deal, Zevran?”

“I want you to know that I love you.” He doesn’t flinch when she takes a step towards him. They’re both fully aware that she can lay him out with a punch if she wants to, but he lets her get near him all the same. “Because you need to hear it from me. You would not believe it otherwise.”

Another part of her cracks. He means it, she knows he does. But will he mean it still when he has to leave for Antiva? She knows things are not always what she thinks they’ll be; the new arl of Redcliffe is proof of that. He can’t understand that, so his feelings can’t be real. And if they somehow are, they cannot last.

“Don’t.” She’s not above begging. She’s been strong this long. To come this far only to fail in the final stretch is unthinkable.

“I needed to tell you.” He looks so soft in the evening light, so unlike the ruthless assassin she knows he can be. “For both of us.”

Her laugh is fake, even to her. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Zevran. You can’t be--” She can’t get the words out. “You love a dream girl. She’s not real.”

“You look real enough to me.”

The sob comes easily. “No. I’m not.” He doesn’t get it. She only came to be in Thedas by accident. She could have died---should have died---many times before this. She only survived so long because of Tova and the others protecting her. Take that away and what was left?

Nobody.

The tears come without warning. She’s not crying. She doesn’t want to, doesn’t want the careful mask she’d put into place breaking, not like this. Not now. Not in front of the one it was for in the first place.

His arms are around her before she can stop him. He’s so soft and warm now that he’s not in his armor, and she can feel him reaching up to brush a hand over her hair as she sobs into his shoulder. “Shhh. It’s going to be alright, cara mia.”

“No,” she cries, shaking her head against his shirt. “It’s not. You shouldn’t...I can’t...thank you.” It’s the closest she’ll get to admitting her feelings. She can’t say the words back to him, not right now. Not when the band-aid has just been ripped off.

He lets her cry until she can put herself together again, murmuring Antivan endearments to her as he bends down to press his lips to the top of her head.

“Why?” she asks again when she finally trusts herself to speak.

“Because everything is changing.” He finally releases her and goes to gather up the remains of their meal. “And I wish for you to know where I stand.”

She moves to join him, reaching for the blanket they’d shared. “The Crows will use it against you. Use us against you. You have to know that.”

“Perhaps.” He goes quiet just long enough to have her glancing in his direction, and she finds him watching her, his expression guarded. “They are welcome to try. I lost those I cared for to the Crows once before. I will not allow it to happen again.”

Having gathered their things, he gestures for her to follow him. She does, and together they return to the castle proper. The corridors are quiet, and Bekah can’t say for certain if it’s because the festivities are over, or because they’re too far away from the Great Hall now to notice.

“I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.” She doesn’t think it’ll stop him, but she has to try all the same.

“You say that, but we know that I will get hurt either way, cara mia.” He sets down the tray with their glasses and plates on a table where the servants can collect it when they make their rounds in the morning. “I am not the sort of man to lead a peaceful life.”

It’s true. He’d once told her in the early stages of their friendship that he was unlikely to stop being an assassin. He enjoyed the work and there were few opportunities for elves where he’d be happy.

Before she can respond, he glances at her over his shoulder and she can swear she sees a mischievous glint in his eye. “Would you have really fallen for me otherwise?”

“Yes,” she answers simply, and now it’s his turn to fumble at her honesty. She’d laugh at the fact that she can do such a thing, were she not feeling so unbalanced herself.

She’s been in Thedas for almost two years now. It feels like a lifetime. She’s seen magic and fire-breathing dragons---even fought one---on a few occasions. But the idea of Zevran Arainai being in love to her seems so much more impossible than any of those things.

She’d loved him back when she knew him as a character in a game she’d play on her laptop, but the reality of him is so much more than she could have ever conceived. And to know that he loves her? Maybe even wants her? She isn’t equipped to deal with it, with him.

Years had been spent hoping that someone would show an interest in her. She’d sat there and watched friends new and old having relationships and wondering what was wrong with her to make her so undesirable. Then she’d just given up, accepted that she was likely to never find someone she would want to brave enough for, and settled for getting her relationship fix from books.

She doesn’t know how to be a girlfriend. A lover. What if she is found lacking? She doesn’t think she can handle opening herself up to Zevran only to find out he doesn’t really want her after all. She isn’t strong enough for that kind of rejection.

She can feel the careful control she’s built up over the last few months slowly begin to wither away.

“Bekah?” She can hear Zevran’s voice, but it’s faint. Then she feels something on her shoulders and realizes that it’s his hands. He’s looking at her, concern very clearly etched on his face.

“Sorry,” she mutters, her cheeks warming as she thinks about the fact that he caught her so off balance. “I’m fine. Really. I just…” The words die on her lips as she looks at him. He’s so close now. Close enough that if she were a braver woman she could close the distance between them and kiss him like she’s wanted to.

“You look ill.”

“Geez, thanks. You know how to make a girl feel special.” She can see the corner of his mouth twitch. Good. She doesn’t like him being worried for her.

“Do you want to lay down?”

“No, no, I just need to sit.” The room is spinning only a little, and she’s sure that she’ll be fine as long as she doesn’t have to keep standing for much longer. Her legs feel too much like jello.

She doesn’t put up much of a protest as he pushes the door open to her room---she hadn’t realized they had moved that far into the castle while she’d been lost in her misery---and guides her to the small sitting area. He takes a step back, but doesn’t go too far in case she needs him to get her something. The idea makes her smile faintly.

“I’m alright,” she tells him, her voice surprisingly steady. “I just need a moment to gather myself.”

“Is there anything you desire?” He doesn’t touch her, just stands there and gives her the space she needs in this moment. “Something I can retrieve for you? Tea?”

“No.” It’s hard to think. There was a time when she could comfort herself by remembering that she’d taken her medication recently enough that it was still in her body, but it’s been years since she’s taken anti-anxiety medication. She focuses on her breathing, relaxing each part of her body as she watches Zevran kneel in front of her and take her hands. His are warm; she uses that to anchor herself in the moment.

“I’ve tried telling myself what I feel is wrong.” Zevran starts to talk and she doesn’t try to stop him. “There are better men out there that could love you, I know.” When she doesn’t interrupt, he continues. “Better women that could make your life a joyful one. If you loved him, Alistair would make you his queen.”

“I would be a terrible queen.”

“You would be an amazing queen,” he corrects. “The people of Ferelden would be so lucky to have you looking out for them. But you never showed any interest in him and I thought, maybe, I could try and seduce you first, before he could.”

“How’d that turn out?”

He lets out a choked laugh. “You know how. You nearly died in Orzammar. And as I went from one end of that blasted city to the other looking for a way to save you, I realized I was in love with you. My whole world changed. But I had not changed with it.”

She could still see the expression on his face when she woke up. “You could have told me then.”

“Would you have believed me then?”

“No.” She is only just now starting to believe it herself. Only just starting to think that maybe she could try and brave this for him. But she doesn’t tell him that. “What are you thinking?” She can’t read him right now, not with her own self-doubt clouding her mind.

“I’m thinking that I’ve wasted enough time.”

“Same.” She let out a slow breath. “I’m never going to stop self-doubting, I think. It’s too ingrained in me at this point. But I think we’ve both suffered enough. It’s time to move on.”

“I agree.” She looks up at him now, and sees he’s smiling. “Now that all that is left to ask is: where does this leave us?”

The kiss is an impulse, a quiet surrender to the truth she’s held close to her heart all this time. She feels his body tense, and for a moment wonders if maybe she’s made a misstep. But then he’s returning it and, oh god, she was not prepared for this. She expected him to be good, but it’s another thing entirely to experience it for herself.

He breaks away just long enough to sit down next to her, before he’s pulling her closer, each subsequent kiss a tiny concession to the feelings that have been building between them. For every one he gives her, she returns it in kind. Before she realizes it’s happening, he’s dragging her over his lap, forcing her to straddle him lest the position grow uncomfortable.

Her cheeks burn as she feels him pressing against her, but she doesn’t stop, her fingers digging into the back of the seat as she pours herself into the kiss, telling him what she could not voice before.

“Brasca.” Zevran is the first to pull back for air, and he looks at her like he’s seeing her properly for the first time. He cups her face in his hands and pulls her in for a soft kiss. “Why did we wait so long to do that?”

“I don’t know.” Another concession. She stops him from saying anything else with another kiss. What happens now? She lets the question simmer in the back of her mind. The most obvious answer is to let things continue. She’s been starving for the touch of another for so long that her body wants to feast upon the meal being presented to her. It’s obvious that he wants her; she can feel the proof pressing against her thigh. It’s intoxicating, but she wants to be sure that she wants this, because there’s no turning back if she asks him to keep going.

She doesn’t want to hurt him with her inadequacy. She doesn’t want to do this and see his disappointment clearly written on his face. She wants him to keep looking at her like he is right now. She wants him to show her what it could be like.

No one else.

“Do you,” she begins, leaving tiny kisses along his mouth, “plan on kissing me all night? Or do you think we can move to the bed?” She can scarcely believe she’s actually asking him this.

Apparently he doesn’t believe it either because he can only stare at her. “Are...are you sure?” A chance to back down. He won’t take it any further unless she wishes him to.

They’re both standing on the edge of a cliff. The point of no return.

She flings herself over the edge. “Yes. I want you, Zevran.”

And takes him with her. He kisses her again, and she lets him as they get back to their feet. He doesn’t take his eyes off of her, as if he’s afraid that she really is a ghost that will vanish when he looks away. But she’s not going anywhere.

Her room is nowhere near as grand as Diantha’s. The bed is only a short distance away from where they had been sitting, but it might have been on the other side of the castle as far as she is concerned.

The kiss he gives her now tastes different. Incredulous. Is this really happening? She can practically feel the moment when he seems to accept that yes, this is really happening between them.

She knows she’s not the first to have sex with him. Far from it. He was raised in a brothel, and then the Crows made him turns his own body into a tool to be used for their benefit. Maybe it should give her pause, but she’s just grateful that at least one of them will know what they’re doing.

Before this can progress much farther, she stops him. He freezes, but does not look away. “Can...can we light some candles? I want to be able to see you.”

“Of course.” His face is soft, softer than she’s ever known him to be. “Whatever you desire, cara mia.”

There are already candles scattered around the room from a previous vain attempt to banish the shadows. Zevran pulls away from her to light each of them, and she can only stand there and watch. She doesn’t know what she should be doing. Should she start undressing? Go and lay down on the bed? In the end, she stays where she is and fidgets.

Zevran lights the final candle and blows out the taper before he sets it aside. There’s definitely a bit of swagger there as he returns to her, a flash of the Zevran she’s familiar with. It makes her smile despite herself.

“So,” he murmurs, reaching for the edge of his open shirt. “Should I get undressed, or would you like to aid me?”

She didn’t think her face could get any warmer, but somehow it does. The twitch of Zevran’s mouth tells her he very much noticed her reaction. The asshole. Fighting back a wave of nerves, the urge to hide her face behind her hands, she settles for humor. “Trying to posture? You’re worse than a peacock, Zevran.”

That earns her a chuckle. “But of course. What do I have to be ashamed of?”

Plenty of things. They both know that. He’s an assassin. Most of his life has been built around doing things that most would be ashamed of. But his body is not one of them. They know that too.

“Off with them, then,” she says, sounding far more confident than she feels.

There’s no hesitation from him, no sign of discomfort. Instead, he makes a show of it, slowly undoing the few buttons that held his shirt together before he shrugs out of the garment, letting it pool around his waist. He’s watching her the entire time, daring her to look at his body.

She does, of course. She’s seen him in various states of undress before now, but never like this. Never where she could openly admire him. It’s easy to see how he would do well in the Crows. Elves were often chosen because of how attractive they were, and he was living proof of that. His tattoos only enhanced that, drawing focus to the best parts of him. She traced one with her eyes, following the black ink from where it began just under his ribs and followed the curve of his hip down to…

Her eyes dart back to his face, her cheeks aflame. Years spent in a religious household make her feel as if she’s doing something wrong, but she hasn’t been struck down yet.

“I take it you approve?” Zevran’s voice pulls her from that particular train of thought, and as she takes in the sight of his face properly, she sees that he looks incredibly smug. A definite peacock, she thinks.

To keep herself from fidgeting under his gaze, she puts her hands behind her back. “You know I do.” She’s almost proud at how confident she sounds. Not at all like the mess they both know she is right now.

“Would you like me to continue?” He’s enjoying this far more than he has any right to. “Or perhaps you would like to assist me?”

His fingers move as he says it, tracing puckered skin from the damage he’s taken over the years. How many of those scars have come from the Crows themselves? How many more will he receive because of their cruelty?

She can feel her hands twitch as he moves to the ties that hold his trousers in place, one finger brushing against the faint blond hair just above the leather.

It’s so much harder to breathe now, and she’s afraid she’s going to hyperventilate and embarrass herself more than she already has tonight, but she forces herself to look back up at him. “Continue, please,” she says softly.

“Good.” He takes a step towards her, close enough that she could just brush her fingers against him if she dared to reach out. But she doesn’t, and the air grows heavy as he begins to undo the laces.

She doesn’t look away, staring him down like the day they first met, when he tried to spring a trap to kill the Wardens. She almost killed him then, surprising them both with the precision of the spear she’d throw in his direction. Did he know then that they would end up here?

The trousers peel off his skin slowly, clinging to him like a second skin as he pushes them down. He kicks his boots off and then his trousers are on the floor, the shirt soon joining it.

She whirls around, her heart hammering in her chest at the realization that he had been wearing nothing underneath the clothes. She can hear him take a step towards her, and it is the scent of the oil he uses to treat the leather of his armor that alerts her before she feels his arms go around her.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and she shudders at the feel of his lips against her ear. “We can stop here if you wish it.”

Knowing that he meant it, that he would go and put his clothes back on while she tried to compose herself, helped. “Thank you,” she whispers. Before he can pull away, she turns around and wraps her arms around him. “You’re trying so hard to make this easier for me.”

The kiss is sweet, if not a little awkward, because she can feel the proof of his arousal even though she’s fully clothed.

“Do you wish to go to the bed now?” he asks her as they come up for air. He’s rubbing circles into her back, trying to ease some of the stiffness he finds there.

“Sure,” she says, cracking a small smile. “Unless you want to preen some more.”

He chuckles as he takes a step backwards, in the direction of the bed. “Should I not, cara mia?”

Her response is to give him a slight push, and it’s enough to send him off balance, falling back onto the bed with a small grunt of surprise. Lips twitching, she watches him sit up, resting most of his weight on his elbows.

“Shall I undress you?” he asks, and she blinks in surprise. That was not what she thought he’d say.

She swallows past the lump in her throat. “If you like.”

It’s difficult not to shy away as he begins. It’s one thing to be naked in front of a doctor or a healer, another thing entirely when you intend to have sex with the other person. And it’s not like Zevran hasn’t seen her naked before, but that was an open act of defiance. This was...a submission of sorts.

She feels like she’s slowly dying as he pushes the sleeves of her dress down her arms. Mischievous hands ease the fabric further, careful not to catch the delicate material on his calloused skin. Inch by inch he goes, letting out a quiet huff as it sticks around her hips, forcing him to tug rather than glide. Her body goes tight, and he pulls her head down so he can kiss her on her mouth. The tension gradually eases, until she can feel the dress finally give and pool at her feet.

He’s just as merciless as he does away with her undergarments, but he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know how important this is for her, doesn’t know why her breath catches as he touches her bare skin for the first time.

He makes room for her on the bed and she joins him, a small gasp pulled from her as she feels their bodies press together for the first time with nothing between them.

It’s too much. Memories bubble to the surface, and she buries her face in the sheets.

“It’s alright.” His voice is gentle. “We do not need to continue if you do not wish it.”

It’s the second time he’s given her an out, and it would be so easy to accept. She hears the concern in his voice. He wants this to be good for her.

“Sorry,” she mutters, ashamed at the tears that are threatening to fall. “Just give me a second.”

He gives her all the time she needs, letting her regain control of her breathing. It helps when she looks at him, makes the memories that much smaller in her mind. She reaches out and boops him on the nose, laughter spilling out when he takes that as an opportunity to nip at her hand.

“Don’t worry, it will be fun. I’ll make it fun.” He brushes back some of the hair that’s fallen in her face. “I won’t hurt you.”

It’s a lie, she thinks. He can’t stop any of this from hurting, and they both know it. And when he eventually leaves to go after the Crows, it’ll hurt even more. Part of her feels sick, selfish almost, for wanting to do this even though she knows that he’ll leave in the end.

He’ll break her heart. And she’ll let him, gladly.

She shifts until she’s over him, drawing him into a kiss that shows him that she’s okay more than actually saying the words would. He wraps his arms around her, and it makes her feel dizzy, surrounded by his warmth. His hands are on her, tracing every dip, every curve. She was afraid he wouldn’t want her when he saw the fat, the skin that had been stretched taut. There had been a time when she wanted to feel attractive for him, like one of the partners he must’ve had in the past.

And here he was, proving that she already was attractive. That he wanted her.

She falls in love with him just a little more after that.

“I want you,” she whispers, and swallows the laugh she knows is coming with a kiss. She wants to see how it can be, with him.

His gaze is warm as he stares up at her, his hands firm as he guides her onto her back. “And I, you,” he tells her before he kisses her again. Her thoughts scatter, her hands moving to tangle in his blond hair as he moves lower, his lips brushing along the underside of her jaw.

Then lower still.

“I love you, Bekah.” Her stomach tightens, but he doesn’t stop. The world doesn’t end as he moves along her body, telling her with mouth and tongue just how much he cares for her. An apology for every day that he couldn’t tell her the truth.

It’s hardly fair to let him do all the work, but the words die on her tongue before she can give them voice. They’re replaced by a moan as she feels his tongue brush against a sensitive spot, and another when he takes the first as an invitation to do it again.

She’s being selfish, but it’s hard to care as he sets her body on alight with ease, his hands making a path that his tongue soon follows.

“I love you.” He settles between her thighs, and when she looks down at him, she can see the adoration in his eyes. He really means it.

She’s doomed.

Then again, maybe she always was.

* * *

It’s much later in the evening before she thinks she remembers how to speak. She’s curled up next to Zevran, the two of them dozing in and out of consciousness in the aftermath of their lovemaking.

She should go get cleaned up, they both should, but she’s not certain she knows how legs work anymore. He’d laugh at that if she told him, turn it into something dirty and then there really would be no chance of getting cleaned up.

She’s absently tracing the edge of one of his back tattoos, idling wondering how many sessions it took for him to get it. The candles are burning lower than before, and the air is thick with their combined scents.

It’s going to be weird later, she figures. Going down to breakfast later and acting like things aren’t wildly different. Like they don’t know each so much more intimately now.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and watches as his head slowly turns.

“I often have that effect on others,” he jokes, but she can see the unspoken question in the way he looks at her. He wants to know what she wants to thank him for.

“For loving me,” she says. “And for showing me...that this doesn’t have to be something to be ashamed of.” She hesitates on the last part, but he doesn’t understand what being able to do this with him means to her.

He deserves to know that much.

She can see the exact moment he realizes what she’s saying, and she leans in to kiss him before he can speak.

“Shh. It was a lifetime ago. I’m okay now.” She smiled at him. “There are better memories now.”

He sighs, then turns so he’s facing her on his side. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Yeah.” Her smile widens. “You can stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Credits: This was inspired largely by a romance scene in the game Fallen Hero: Retribution. Credit for the inspiration therefore goes to the author Malin Rydén for making an amazing series that has left me an emotional wreck. If you haven't played it, I suggest you check it out. 
> 
> Credit also goes to the creators of Dragon Age, for allowing me as a fan to play in the world they've created and shared.
> 
> The title comes from lyrics of "Like Real People Do" by Hozier
> 
> Special thanks to AKA from the MCIT server and spacedfoxes for making sure this behemoth is actually readable. I love you both dearly.
> 
> And thank you, dear reader, for getting this far. I hope you enjoyed reading. <3


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